Better Than the Campfire

In addition to regularly taking long, meandering, wholly unnecessary, road trips to visit operating locations of broken chains, I also keep an eye on restaurant industry news to get a feel for what presently struggling chains may be the broken chains of the future. If there’s one conclusion that I can draw from the news articles that I read, it’s that this is an unfortunate time to be a family restaurant chain. Any full-service, medium to low price restaurant brand that does not serve alcohol seems as likely as not to be struggling these days. Following its second bankruptcy in less than a decade, Perkins is being split from its ailing sister brand, Marie Callender’s, and sold off to the more successful (for now) Huddle House. Steak and Shake is offering up franchises for a paltry $10,000 in a desperate attempt to re-open an ever-increasing list of shuttered locations, and I spent the entirety of last November exploring and discussing the shattered remains of the Big Boy empire. (I plan to do the same this November.) Between the rise of fast casual dining and a growing public distaste for chain restaurants as a whole, places where you can sit down and order a hot meal on the cheap are becoming increasingly rare, at least the ones that are affiliated with a chain. One upper midwestern chain’s decline over the past 20 years served as a harbinger of doom for others of its ilk, but the existence of a single surviving location was a major factor in my decision to drive to Minnesota for the second time in less than a year.

Fridley, Minnesota lies just north of Minneapolis, and is home to the last operating Embers restaurant, the last outlet of a chain that once boasted 30 locations in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, and the Dakotas. While the Fridley Embers was among the last to be opened, the chain’s first location opened right across town in 1956.

Embers was born of a bromance between Henry Kristal and Carl Birnberg, close friends since childhood, who joined the navy together, and found themselves assigned to different posts. Company lore states that the two exchanged letters complaining about navy food and pining for their respective mothers’ cooking, and wishing for a place where working folk could get a decent hot meal for a reasonable price. Their dream became a reality when they opened their first restaurant on the south side of Minneapolis, and the single location grew to a chain, first in the Twin Cities, and then to the rest of Minnesota and surrounding states, serving up charbroiled Emburgers and hearty breakfasts wherever they set up shop. The chain went through the usual ups and downs over the years, eventually falling onto hard times in the ‘80s and ‘90s, thanks to over-reliance on the breakfast menu and discounts. As we saw with Country Kitchen, breakfast is often the last refuge of a dying family restaurant chain. Newly appointed vice president David Kristal, son of Henry led an initiative to “Rekindle the Embers” in the late ‘90s by offering up inexpensive Embers franchises to established independent restaurants. Multiple sources say his inspiration was Ace Hardware’s business model, but I think a certain Kentucky Colonel and overall-clad, double deck burger-slinging obese child were at least equally influential, as KFC and Big Boy grew their empires in much the same way decades before Embers attempted the same move. It was then that the chain peaked at around 30 locations, and that the Fridley Embers, known as Ricky’s Embers opened for business an early entrant in the final wave of Embers restaurant openings, marked by a series of jokey commercials starring Henry and David Kristal that I highly recommend watching on YouTube.

This article about Ricky’s Embers describes the history of that specific location better than I ever could, but the story in a nutshell is that the owner is the son of an Embers waitress and an Embers janitor who worked his way up to becoming an Embers vice president. His upbringing entrenched in the Embers brand led not only to him becoming not only an Embers franchisee, but the final Embers franchisee, operating Ricky’s Embers, the final Embers which he named for his father.

The world's last operating Embers

It was with this heady backstory in mind that rolled into town on a Sunday afternoon having eaten nothing but donuts and beef jerky from a gas station west of Fargo that morning. Thanks to my upbringing in Kentucky, far from Embers’ operating area, this was to be my first Embers experience, aside from witnessing the brand second hand in the films of Minnesota natives Joel and Ethan Coen who set scenes in both Fargo and A Serious Man inside Embers restaurants (The latter teaches us that Embers is not the forum to discuss legalities, though the former heavily implies Embers is a perfectly acceptable place to discuss illegalities, like the plan for handing off ransom money to the thugs you hired to kidnap your wife in a convoluted scheme.) 

The distinctive vaulted ceiling over the kitchen. Note the kitchen wall's 45 degree orientation to the outer wall on the far left.  

The building housing Ricky’s Embers is unique not only among restaurants but also among Embers locations. If the chain ever had standardized architecture requirements, this location was opened long after they had gone by the wayside. The floor plan of the place was inventive and striking, as the dining room was split into two triangular sections that converge at the entrance. The kitchen is situated in the center of the building with its front walls situated at a 45 degree angle to the exterior walls of the building. A vaulted ceiling mirrored the Zantigo-like roofline of the exterior of the building and converged over the kitchen, which presumably had an open ceiling under the vaulted portion. 

The view from my table, 

After the cashier finished accepting a payment that seemed to be mostly composed of change from one of a throng of elderly patrons, he assumed the role of host and showed me to a booth in the triangular section to the right of the entrance. I read through the menu carefully, and by virtue of my hunger and desire to not repeat the mistake I made 875 miles away at Isaly’s, I decided to order a breakfast skillet to eat at my table, and a to-go Emberger that I would shame-eat in my car immediately after my meal. My opinion of Embers soared well past both Country Kitchen and Lucky Steer when my server asked how I wanted the eggs on my Everything Skillet cooked. I opted for Embers famous coffee cake as my breakfast side, and also took the opportunity to order my to-go Emberger. 

I'd love to have one of these vintage Embers menus in my collection 

The walls were covered with pictures of old locations. I'd like to visit again when it's less busy so I can look at them all. 

I didn’t realize at the time that this particular Embers was only 20 or so years old, and I was struck by the modernness of the decor. Nothing felt dated or tired, which in retrospect makes sense. Framed photos of old Embers locations and old Embers menus lining the walls gave the feeling that the owners have a deep appreciation of the history of the Embers brand, which they surely do given their history. I managed to take a few sneaky photos before my breakfast arrived, and my server told me in a perfect Minnesota Nice accent that she was about to put my to go order in, so it came up fresh just as I was finishing my breakfast. Good thinking, Minnesota Nice Server. 

Broken chain, broken hollandaise. It still tasted great, as did the coffee cake. 

The Everything Skillet lived up to its name thanks to the hash brown-based foodpile being topped with onions, peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms, ham, bacon, sausage, hollandaise. Even though the delicate emulsion of the hollandaise sauce had separated, it was still the best broken chain breakfast I’d had since Druther’s and Clancy’s. It was easily on par with my beloved Coney Islands back in Detroit. If the skillet was above average, the coffee cake, served warm, was stellar with its airy texture and subtly sweet flavor. I wasn’t sure to do with the scoop of butter that came on top of it. None of the cake’s surfaces seemed conducive to butter spreading, but then again, I don’t eat butter on pancakes either, so maybe I’m the weirdo.

It seriously looked this good as soon as I opened the to-go box. I made zero adjustments before taking this picture.  

True to her word, my server brought out my to-go order along with the bill just as I was finishing up. I then settled my bill with the cashier up front and proceeded to my car. Like most places in the Twin Cities, Ricky’s Embers is immediately adjacent to a Target, and I decided a Target parking lot was as good a place as any to enjoy my first Emberger. I opened the Styrofoam clamshell container to reveal an amazingly perfectly presented burger and fries, with a thick, hand-formed patty brushed in barbecue sauce and flame broiled. The onions seemed to have been grilled as well. I’m generally opposed to flame-grilling meat, subscribing to a Hank Hillian “Taste the meat, not the heat.” philosophy, but I thoroughly enjoyed the Emberger’s smoky flavor, crispy edges and juicy center, though some mustard, or better yet, extra barbecue sauce would have been a welcome addition. On my next visit, when I’m under less pressure to sample as much of the menu as possible, I’ll have to try an Emberger Royal, which is rumored to be the first ever bacon cheeseburger. 

The single-page menu has breakfast on the front, 

lunch and dinner on the back. 

I grew up taking regular family vacations with a father and brother who were picky eaters. No matter where we went, we’d typically end up having dinner at a Bob Evans, Marie Callender’s or Cracker Barrel rather than sampling any local cuisines. These meals are likely partially responsible for my love of chain restaurants and the somewhat contradictory desire to venture to far-away, half forgotten chain restaurants to experience a little local culture that I would have otherwise missed out on. The same vacation meals also gave me an appreciation for the family restaurant where weary travelers or locals who didn’t feel like cooking could sit and be served a well-prepared meal. In addition to Marie Callender’s struggles, Bob Evans has been slowly shedding locations for the past few years, and Cracker Barrel’s largest shareholder is the same holding company that controls Steak and Shake. I’d contend that all of these brands have also exhibited a significant decline in quality over the past 20 years as well. It therefore seems like it’s only a matter of time before the big family restaurant chains disappear to the extent that Embers has over the past 25 years. Hopefully the broken chains of the future will have holdout franchisees as dedicated to their original restaurant concepts as the owners of the last Embers are to theirs. Every defunct restaurant chain deserves to have at least one location holding on to show future generations what their brand was like at its best, and I have no doubt that’s exactly what Ricky’s Embers is.

Another great example of a holdout franchisee running a great outlet of a mostly defunct chain restaurant is the Harlan, Kentucky Rax, where I'll be hosting Raxgiving next month. Consider joining me and your fellow Broken Chains fans for a quintessentially Rax experience. 

Broken Chains on Facebook

Broken Chains Store

(Use the code OLIVE15 at checkout to get 15% off your entire order through the end of the year!)

Zapata Zigs to Zantigo, Zags to Zanz

Author's note: I wrote this post in a more innocent time. I made reference to a Z entity, itself a reference to the Q entity from Star Trek: The Next Generation. In the intervening years, the letters Q and Z have become symbols of nefarious political movements, both of which I emphatically condemn. Please understand that the use of letters is not meant as a sign of support for those political movements. My intent was only to reference Star Trek. I wonder how Sesame Street is dealing with this problem. -Zap Actionsdower March 24, 2022. 

Late last year, I took a tour of a few different locations in Minnesota that fit the Broken Chains theme. The trip resulted in a tiny narrative about the Bonanza in St. Cloud and a full post about the last operating Happy Chef restaurant in Mankato, but the stop I made at a recently re-opened Zantigo in St. Paul was my favorite of the trip, thanks chiefly to Zantigo's connection to a family anecdote I grew up hearing. My meal at the St. Paul Zantigo resulted in a blog post that erroneously assumed that anything remotely resembling Zantigo did not exist after Pepsico's acquisition and phase-out of the brand in the mid-80s, and before the brand's revival in the '90s by former Zantigo Manager Don Kaelble. I even went so far as to lament the "dark Zantigo-less years"of the late '80s and early '90s. I should have known better.

If there's one thing that I've learned in tracking down experiences to write about here, it's that in the chain restaurant world, it's not at all unusual for a franchisee or two of an ostensibly defunct chain to remain in business decades after their corporate parent fades away. Often, those holdout franchisees acquire the rights to the brand, as is the case with chains like Rax and Dog 'n Suds. In other cases, holdout franchisees change the names of their restaurants and menu items, but carry on as they always have. I've visited two different former Burger Chefs that have done just that, and I have a lead on a third. It was therefore not surprising when I learned that Zantigo had never fully disappeared.

After uploading that initial Zantigo post, I continued having my silly adventures and writing sillier narratives about them until I was stopped in my tracks, as if contained by some manner of Roddenberrian forcefield grid. An entity known only as “Z” commented on my Zantigo post and informed me of Zanz, a former Zantigo that had been in continuous operation in Mankato, Minnesota since the early 1970’s, back when Zantigo was called Zapata. Starting in the late '80s the Mankato Zantigo became Zanz after PepsiCo phased out the Zantigo brand, and Zanz had functioned as a Zantigo in all but name ever since. Upon learning this, time seemed to freeze all around me, and could only be unfrozen by a visit to Zanz. At least that's what the Z-Entity told me as it shape-shifted and taunted me. I had little choice but to drive the 700 miles back to Minnesota for the second time in less than a year so I could appease both the Z-Entity and my curiosity about Zanz.

Not your typical Zantigo building

It was after sundown when I arrived, road-weary and hungry. The sun-faded taco on the backlit plastic sign below glowing red letters spelling out ZANZ marked the end of my journey. The name, "Zanz" was different enough from Zantigo to keep the lawyers placated, but similar enough to let the general public know what they could find inside. I walked across the parking lot, under the building's long canopy that hinted to its past life as a drive-in, and into the building's small dining room.

Interior dining area, note the unique light fixture. 

I had my doubts about how authentic of a Zantigo experience I could expect at Zanz, since the building was not a standard example of Zantigo's corporate architecture. It had clearly been converted to a Zapata from something else before it became Zantigo, and finally Zanz. From the outside, the building lacked the stucco walls, arched windows, and tall wedge that made its estranged cousin in St. Paul look the part of an authentic vintage Zantigo building, but once I was inside, those doubts melted away like shredded cheddar in a Chilito. Every flat surface was covered in terra cotta, Spanish tile, woodgrain, or gold formica. Tall, amber-tinted light fixtures hung over every booth, and while the panels in the menu board were modern, they had what I took to be its original frame. It was the vintage Zantigo interior I had hoped for, in vain, in St. Paul. In fact, Zanz seemed to occupy the opposite end of the Zantigo spectrum from its Twin Cities counterpart.

This chain restaurant blog is quickly becoming a tile blog. 

The St. Paul Zantigo, was clearly a purpose-built Zantigo building, but it had been updated extensively, inside and outside to suit a modern aesthetic. The color and decor in St. Paul were decidedly modern, and the old backlit menu board had given way to modern flatscreen monitors. (These updates were likely a necessity, as the St. Paul Zantigo was a Taco Bell for many years before it reverted back to a Zantigo location, and it was likely extensively remodeled during the Taco Bell era.) The interior at Zanz, on the other hand, was a perfectly preserved 1970s time capsule, quite possibly the most complete Zapta/Zantigo interior left in existence. If the St. Paul Zantigo, and the other locations around the Twin Cities are representative of the modern Zantigo brand, Zanz serves as an unofficial reminder of the brand's heritage.

Hey, remember when this tile blog was about chain restaurants?

My plan was to compare and contrast the Zantigo and Zanz experiences further by ordering the exact same thing at Zanz as I had at Zantigo. When the cashier nodded me over, I started with the same mild Chilito and chips and cheese I'd had in St. Paul, but panicked slightly when I could not find a Taco Deluxe on the menu. Thinking on my feet, I ordered a taco burrito instead, and took a seat to await my order, and ponder the difference in menu, and the nature of Americanized Mexican food in general.

Despite them being modern, the panels of the menu board have a vintage feel. 

Multiple sources state that during the modern Zantigo revival era, Don Kaelble and company made a few additions to the Zantigo menu. I suspect the Taco Deluxe, a hard shell taco inside a softshell tortilla with a layer of refried bean adhesive was one of these additions, likely made to compete with the similar Taco Bravo from Taco John's and the recently discontinued Double Decker Taco at Taco Bell. I suspect no such menu item existed in the first wave Zapata/Zantigo era during the 1970s and '80s, and that the addition to the menu was never made at the independently operated Zanz. While I was slightly disappointed not to find a Taco Deluxe on the menu, I was excited to try a Taco Burrito.

The wrapper is twisted at the end of the Chilito, just as it is at Zantigo.

Longtime readers know I'm a massive fan of a Mexican fast food chain known as Taco Tico, which, like Zantigo, has Midwestern origins and also like Zantigo, was founded by someone who was not even remotely Mexican. Taco Tico has their own version of a Taco Burrito, that is, a burrito shell stuffed with fast food taco ingredients, known as a Sancho. The abscence of a Taco Deluxe at Zanz afforded me the opportunity to try what I took to be Zantigo's equivalent of the Taco Tico Sancho, apparently a staple of Midwest-Mex cuisine.

Zanz Chlito cross section. Ignore my ugly hand. 

I started with the most easily replicable menu item, the chips and cheese, and found like at Zantigo, they consisted of white corn tortilla chips under a layer of shredded cheddar jack, microwaved to form a melty blanket atop the simple, yet delicious appetizer. I then moved onto the Chilito, which had failed to thrill me in St. Paul. It's unofficial counterpart in Mankato, however was more to my taste. Perhaps it was a different tortilla, was a bit more generously filled with the chili-like Chilito sauce, or maybe my previous experience helped me manage my expectations, but at any rate, I enjoyed Zanz bootleg Chilito a bit more than the official Chilito I'd eaten in St. Paul, even if the flavor of the filling was nearly identical.

Taco Burrito cross section

I then moved onto the Taco Burrito, which I unwrapped to find was little teapot-like, short and stout, compared to the long and slender Sancho at Taco Tico. A couple bites revealed the meat inside to be identical in flavor to the taco meat I'd had in the Deluxe Taco at Zantigo the previous winter, and a generous layer of shredded cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion, provided a nice contrast to the warm beef. It's clearly a menu item best eaten fresh before homeostasis renders the fillings uniformly lukewarm, but it was delightful, if ephemeral.

I stopped by on my way out of town the next morning for more exterior photos. I think that's a Signtronix sign? Can any sign aficionados confirm? 

Having experienced the extremes of the Zantigo brand, it's tough to say which I enjoyed more. While inarguably similar, the modern Zantigo and the vintage and unofficial Zanz occupy two distinct places in my mind. Zantigo, a brand saved from the brink of obscurity and given new life has all the trappings of a modern fast food chain, yet is distinctively different from both the Taco Bells and Chipotles of the world, clearly a viable competitor in the quick serve Mexican segment, with what I hope is a bright future in the Twin Cities and beyond. Zanz, on the other hand feels like the combination of a beloved local mom and pop, which it essentially is, with a connection to both an endangered brand and a bygone era of fast food. It lacks modernity in every aspect where Zantigo has heaps of it. If Zantigo is a modern fast food chain, then Zanz is the working fast food museum that I love to stumble upon. I'm immensely grateful to the Z-Entity for alerting me to its existence, as I am to everyone who sends me tips about places I should check out. If you're reading this, and have a broken chain location in mind that I've not yet visited. Don't be shy. Comment below, email me, message my Facebook page, or slide into my Instagram DMs. I'd love to hear about your favorite surviving location of an endangered or defunct brand, and maybe even visit it and compare you to a recurring Star Trek character.

Or if you're in the mood to travel to a remote town in Eastern Kentucky on a busy holiday weekend, you can tell me all about your favorite place on November 29th at the Harlan Kentucky Rax, where I'll be hosting Raxgiving 2019. I'll be around to hand out free Broken Chains stickers, along with another surprise or two while we enjoy a meal at my favorite Rax.

Broken Chains on Facebook 

Broken Chains Store

Oh, What They've Done to the Chili!

Kiss my grits, Mel!

The past few days have been the coldest so far of the winter in my Metro Detroit home. This past weekend, the abysmally frigid temperatures sapped my motivation to leave the house, and saw me remaining at home for all but the most necessary outings. I passed the the time watching reruns of Mama’s Family and Night Court on my 1980-vintage 12 inch black and white Philco TV, onto which I recently connected the necessary adapters for it to pick up the digital broadcast signals from the local stations, many of which air programming that is period appropriate to the very device I’m watching on. These days, nearly all of my television viewing is done using various streaming services which allow me to watch any of their offerings whenever I want. It seemed like an eternity since I sat down and channel surfed until I found something that I could watch that happened to be airing independently of my schedule.

From what I saw, it appears everyone under the age of 70 also abandoned so-called “appointment TV,” because the commercials that aired between the reruns were targeted squarely at the elderly. As I sat through the endless commercials for term life insurance, hearing aids, and scammy reverse mortgages, I was reminded of a much warmer day a month or so back. Counter-intuitively, I was in Minnesota, and it was the Winter Solstice.

I’d been driving around The Land of 10,000 Lakes all day, having dined at both the Zantigo in St. Paul and the Bonanza in St. Cloud. My last Minnesota meal of the day came around 3 PM, an hour or so before sundown on the shortest day of the year. I was in Mankato at the last operating Happy Chef Restaurant.

Like Sign of the Beefcarver back in Michigan, the lone surviving Happy Chef was also the very first location, opening in Mankato in 1963. The chain grew to around 80 units in Minnesota and surrounding states. Downfall came in the ‘80s as the Happy Chef brand grew increasingly dated with each passing year, and failed to adapt to a younger clientele. Locations began to slowly close, leaving only the original location in Mankato open.

The first thing anyone who visits the Mankato Happy Chef will notice is the titular chef character out front. The sheer size of the statue puts even the biggest Big Boy to shame. The Happy Chef stands with a wide grin, holding a massive wooden spoon skyward, and gesturing toward the door with his other gigantic fiberglass hand. He towers over the building, despite being severely bowlegged, attracting attention from everyone driving by on highway 169 as he has for more than 50 years. Local newspaper articles claim that the long dormant speaker system that resides within the bowels of the chef had recently been restored to operating condition, allowing him to shout pre-recorded phrases at passers-by. Maybe I didn’t walk by the correct spot to trigger the system’s motion sensor, or maybe there was a malfunction, but on the day of my visit, the Happy Chef had nothing to say to me. 

When I walked inside, the lone waitress said I could sit anywhere. I chose a booth near the kitchen in the surprisingly small dining room. Aside from myself and a table of six or so active seniors, the place was empty. The decor felt, dated, and surprisingly bland, given the 30 foot chef out front. The atmosphere had an inoffensive pastel late 1980s palate, like a cheap nursing home. As the table of oldsters next to me discussed their views on the current political climate and provided to one another various graphic descriptions of their respective physical maladies, all in accents that made them sound like bit players in some long forgotten deleted scene from Fargo, I thumbed through my menu and found it to be full of typical American diner food.

The view from my table, dated, clean, inoffensive

The overflow dining area could pass for the rumpus room at grandma's.

When my waitress returned, I ordered up the most distinctive food I could find on the menu, a pork tenderloin sandwich, a cup of chili, and a glass of Rochester Root Beer, a brand I hadn’t encountered before or since. A few minutes later, my order arrived, and my waitress offered me a ominous “Good Luck” as she gestured toward my sandwich whose breaded meaty innards extended several inches past the bun in all directions. I proceeded to fold the porcine patty into thirds like a deep fried wallet and add some of the tangy barbecue sauce and vegetable garnishes from my plate to the sandwich before taking a bite. As pork tenderloin sandwiches go, this was a good one. The breaded hunk of swine in the middle had been prepared from scratch and was moist without being fatty or chewy. Likewise, the Rochester root beer was pleasantly sweet and thick with strong notes of vanilla and sassafras. Rochester must be a root beer that is marketed strictly toward the elderly, though, as there appears to be no information about them anywhere on the internet. Likewise, the chili was clearly formulated for the geriatric palate. 

"Good luck"

The crackers were the spiciest thing in this chili. 

Actually, to call it chili would be generous, since both cumin and chili peppers are requisite ingredients for chili. I tasted no notes of either in what was essentially a tomato, beef, and bean stew. I'm not even certain salt was added to it. While the chili was the definite low point of my meal, it was, like my surroundings inoffensive, if bland. Like much of the rest of Happy Chef, the unnervingly mild chili appears to have been concocted to cater to a clientele with an average age of 85, whose digestive systems a spicier blend might not agree with. Still between Happy Chef and Zantigo, I'm beginning to realize why Minnesota isn't known for its chili. 

While I'm a solid 40 years younger than Happy Chef's target demographic, I'm glad I got to experience it, and take a step back into the past while dining with people who may well have been eating at that very Happy Chef since it opened. While the experience wasn't terribly unique, it was comforting, like a day spent watching bad TV while swaddled in a couple heavy blankets as snow gently falls outside. Just as are better ways to watch TV, than connecting the rabbit ears to the old Philco, there are better restaurant chains than Happy Chef, whether they be thriving or broken, if you're not too set in your ways to seek them out. However, when you're in the right mood, a bowl of mediocre chili or a few hours in front of a tiny, ancient cathode ray tube, can be immensely comforting. 

Anyone who can tell me piece of culture the title of this post is referencing will receive an imaginary high five from me.

(Yes, I stole the obscure cultural reference shtick from Judge John Hodgman. What's he going to do, sue me in his imaginary internet courtroom?)

Also be sure to check out the Broken Chains Facebook Page, where I announce new posts, and post occasional bonus content. 

Zantigo Returns

Auhor's Note: I wrote this post during a more innocent time. I made a playful reference to US Supreme Court Associate Justice Samuel Alito. It's a name I would not invoke were I rewriting this post today. 

-Zap Actionsdower June 24, 2022

A year or so ago, I was back home visiting my parents in Kentucky. My father and I were in the car after having lunch at Lexingon's only surviving Taco Tico, as we often do when I come to town. He was reminiscing about how he came to love Mexican-inspired fast food, and recounted an early date he went on with my mother in the late '70s to dine at Lexington’s sole Zantigo, location, which was still open in the early days of the very Taco Tico where we had just eaten. As we passed the former site of the Lexington Zantigo, just a couple miles east of the Taco Tico we were returning from, he pointed out the building to me.

This was once the Lexington, Kentucky Zantigo

It was a distinctive looking building with floor to ceiling arched windows adorning the front facade along with a prominent buttress. The roof was also odd, with a flat-topped center portion extending skyward atop a more conventional hip roof. The building was sitting disused when I managed to stop by to take a picture of it a while later, most recently functioning as a Chinese, or perhaps barbecue restaurant, (There were remnants of signage for both.) but it had begun life as a Zantigo, and in its heyday, it served as a venue to my parents’ budding romance.

At some point after my father struck out with my mother’s cousin Agnes following their first and only date at Darryl’s, he began seeing my mother. They opted to give the nearby Taco Tico a pass to have dinner at Zantigo instead, and my mother, having eaten her fill, stuffed a couple leftover tacos in her purse to enjoy later, only to forget about them, and find them still in her purse a few days later. The narrative serves to illustrate not only my mother’s forgetfulness and lax attitude toward food safety, both of which persist to this day, but also my father’s cheapness, bringing a date to a fast food taco joint, perhaps learning his lesson after an expensive first date at Darryl’s.

Given my pre-existing interest in near-forgotten restaurant chains, and perhaps a feeling that I might not exist had my parents not eaten at that exact Zantigo, I became obsessed with the Zantigo brand after hearing this story. Predictably, I found myself spotting other former Zantigo locations in my travels. With their unique architecture, they’re certainly easy to spot, not unlike former G.D. Ritzy’s buildings. Naturally, I read up on their convoluted history as well.

This payday loan place in Columbus, Ohio isn't fooling anybody. 

Neither is this Wendy's in Belleville, Michigan.

Marno McDermott, not to be confused with Dermott Mulroney or Dylan McDermott opened the first Zapata restaurant in Minneapolis in 1969. His operation was purchased by Hueublein, then parent company of KFC, in 1974. Hublein changed the name of Zapata’s restaurants to Zantigo, and changed the name of Zapata’s grocery products to Ortega, a brand which still exists today. Heublein was acquired by the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company in 1982, which merged with Nabisco in 1985, after which the restaurant division, including KFC and Zantigo were sold off to PepsiCo, who already owned Taco Bell. As a result, the 80 or so remaining Zantigos were either closed or converted to Taco Bells by 1988. Meanwhile, Marno McDermott had moved on to his next venture, again selling a Midwestern version of Mexican food, co-founding Chi Chi's in 1975, after which, he co-starred in My Best Friend's Wedding with Julia Roberts. Or maybe that was Dylan McDermott? Regardless, the Zantigo brand was effectively defunct for the next decade, until a former Zantigo manager bought the rights to the name, and revived the chain with the original menu, plus some additions. 

Classic Zantigo building, modernized for the modern Zantigo customer

The dining room is on the small side, but the large windows and high ceilings make it feel spacious. 

Modern electronic menu board

Ever since learning this, I had been trying to find an excuse to drive out to Minnesota, as all four locations are in and around the Twin Cities. Two are in nondescript strip mall locations, another is in a former Pizza hut, but the fourth is in an original 1970s-era Zantigo building, that housed a Taco Bell in the dark Zantigo-less years of the '80s and '90s. Not unlike the restored Stuckey's I visited last summer, I couldn't resist the allure of a resurrected Zantigo building, so I hopped in the car, and drove the 700 miles to St. Paul at the first opportunity I got. I arrived to find a vintage building that someone has obviously poured a lot of money into. The interior and exterior appointments felt modern, but with a decidedly vintage feel, as if the building had always been a Zantigo that slowly evolved into having modern decor, as if it's from an alternate reality where the Zantigo brand had never disappeared. Menu boards were on flatscreen monitors, and everything felt shiny and new. The building was even in the process of getting a new roof during my visit. 

I was making the most of my time in the Gopher State, and I had a full day of eating planned. I had to pace myself, and this was my first meal of the day. My plan was to order judiciously, purchasing just a few items that best exemplified the Zantigo experience. I went with the classic Mild Chilito, a Taco Deluxe, and Cheese and Chips, the latter being at the recommendation of my father. A couple weeks prior, I'd also ordered and eaten a Chili Cheese Burrito at a Toledo, Ohio Taco Bell so I could compare and contrast it with the Zantigo Chilito, as the Chili Cheese Burrito at Taco Bell is based on the Chilito, and seems to be the only Zantigo-related item you can sometimes still find on the menu at certain Taco Bells operating in former Zantigo territory. This phenomenon, and the website that helps fans locate Taco Bell locations that sell the Chili Cheese Burrito have been discussed in-depth over at Tedium. 

The Taco Deluxe is a decent enough menu item. I'd order two or three of them on my next Zantigo run. 

The chips and cheese lived up to my father's hype, though they were simple and easily replicable, consisting only of grated cheddar jack cheese melted in the microwave over a bed of tortilla chips with a side of pickled jalapeños. I enjoyed them much more than any fast food nachos I've had in recent memory. Real cheese instead of fake liquid nacho cheese made all the difference. Likewise, the Taco Deluxe, a taco in a crispy corn tortilla wrapped in a soft flour tortilla adhered with a layer of refried beans was also a pleasurable experience. The meat had a mild flavor that blended nicely with the other flavors at play. With its refried beans and guacamole, it reminded me a bit of a hand-held seven layer dip. The only let-down was the much anticipated Mild Chilito, which wasn't as good as the Taco Bell burrito. The Chili Cheese Burrito I'd had in Toledo was the same size as a Taco Bell bean burrito, but filled with chili and melted cheddar instead of beans. All that chili made for a hearty and delicious, if slightly messy, meal. The Chilito from Zantigo on the other hand was a tortilla with a light sprinkling of cheese and a token smear of chili folded flat, and rolled up, more of an untoasted quesadilla than a burrito. As a result, I tasted the tortilla as much as, or more than I tasted the filling. I wasn't a fan. While much easier to eat, the Chilito comes off as bland, and skimpily topped compared to the Chili Cheese Burrito. You heard it here first. Not unlike Lance Ito, or Samuel Alito, I judge the Toledo burrito to be superior to the Zantigo Chilito.

Pleasantly plump Chili Cheese Burrito at Taco Bell

Sad, deflated Chilito at Zantigo. 

Regardless of the slight disappointment I felt when experiencing my first Chilito, I'm always excited when an extinct chain makes a comeback, and Zantigo is no exception. I'd love to see them expand into more of their old buildings, and I'll probably always plan on stopping by Zantigo any time I happen to be in their territory, since they have special significance to me. After all, if a butterfly flapping its wings can change the course of history, then it's entirely possible that I wouldn't have been born if my parents had eaten at Taco Tico instead of Zantigo.

Tiny Narratives

In gathering experiences to share here, I encounter a good many interesting phenomena that fit the Broken Chains theme, but for various reasons, do not warrant an entire dedicated blog post. One of my favorite podcasts is 99% Invisible, which explores the history and design of the unnoticed elements that shape modern society. The staff of that show run into similar problems when doing their research. Occasionally they find something interesting, but there's not enough to say about it to fill a full episode of their show. In order to share these smaller stories with their listeners, 99% Invisible does an annual "Mini Stories" episode at the end of every year, combining their smaller stories into a viable podcast episode. This post is shamelessly ripping off inspired by the 99% Invisible Mini Stories episodes, and represents my attempt to share my own mini stories tiny narratives. 

Lum's: Home Edition

Following my trip to Ollie's Trolley earlier this year, I got curious about Lum's. Since there are no Lum's restaurants left open, I went online looking for a copycat recipe for their hot dogs steamed in beer. What I found exceeded my expectations. Ollieburger Spices USA is a website run by a former Lum's manager. For a reasonable price, you can purchase authentic Lum's recipes there along with the spice blends used to make Ollieburgers, special Ollie sauce, and the distinctively seasoned Ollie Fries. 

Ollieburger marinade

I decided to use the recipes and spices I bought to host an informal dinner for me and ten of my closest friends. The Ollieburgers I cooked were very close to the ones at the Louisville Ollie's Trolley, and steaming hot dogs in beer is my new favorite way to prepare them. The food was a hit with my friends. It was nice to share a little real life Broken Chains experience with them. I even went on to host a taco night where I served copycat versions of Taco Tico's meat and refried beans a few months later.

What? Don't you like Bonanza?

Until recently, my various adventures saw me in a hyperbolic function, constantly getting nearer to, but never reaching an operating original concept Bonanza Steakhouse. I visited four related Ponderosa Steakhouses one weekend this spring, and later dined at the only operating Bonanza Steak and BBQ, an attempted revamp of the original Bonanza concept. My plans to visit the Lincoln, Illinois Bonanza were thwarted when reports of a roach infestation scared me away, and sadly that location closed a few weeks later. At the time of this post, there are only eight original concept Bonanzas left operating in the continental United States, a mere fraction of Bonanza's one-time imitator and current sister brand Ponderosa, which is still hanging on with around 60 continental U.S. locations. (I say continental US because both Ponderosa and Bonanza are still hugely popular in Puerto Rico.)

I would hang this tray on my living room wall if it were mine...

...and this rug would be on the floor right below it. 

I had to visit an OG Bonanza while I still could, so while on a trip to Minnesota that you'll hear more about in January, I stopped by the Bonanza in St. Cloud, which is still doing a booming business out of an old Bonanza barn-shaped building, not unlike my local Ponderosa which began life as a Bonanza. While I had a wonderful meal in delightfully outdated surroundings, the whole experience wasn't significantly dissimilar from dining at an especially well-run Ponderosa, a chain which I've already discussed at length. Still, if you're looking for buffet dining in the Gopher State, you could do a lot worse than the old Bonanza in St. Cloud.

The food was great, but decidedly Ponderosa-y.

Imitation Sliders

Fast food history is full of imitators. The roast beef boom started by Arby's in the late sixties gave us Rax, as well as countless other forgotten chains like Neba, Heap Big Beef, even Kentucky Beef, a KFC venture. McDonald's early success inspired Sandy's, Henry's Hamburgers, Burger Chef, and Mr. Quick. Even my beloved G.D. Ritzy's shares more than a few similarities with Steak and Shake. Much of American Fast food history can trace its lineage to the original hamburger chain, White Castle which had plenty of imitators of its own, a few of which survive today. White Tower was one of many restaurant chains that sprang up in the 1920s and 1930s seeking to emulate the White Castle model. Royal Castle and Krystal are also examples of White Castle imitators. The folks at White Castle generally tolerated the knockoff chains unless they attempted to expand into existing White Castle territory, which is exactly what White Tower did, resulting in a lawsuit by White Castle, which dragged on for years. The eventual result was that White Tower had to change their building designs and pay royalty fees to White Castle. The chain fell apart in the 1970s, and today there's a single White Tower left open, located in Toledo Ohio. I had lunch there early this year with Bo-Luke Coyvance of Uncle John's Pancake House fame, and found essentially no resemblance to White Castle or the original White Tower concept.

That's a 1970s-era White Tower sign. It was by far the most interesting and authentic thing at the Toledo White Tower.

Rather than a fast food format, it was a full-service restaurant with printed menus and servers waiting tables. The menu was several pages long offering a selection of sandwiches and breakfast foods. I expected the burgers to bear some resemblance to those at White Castle, but found them to be full-sized, round, and completely devoid of caramelized onions. Any ties to the original White Tower chain were gone. A former White Tower in Hamtramck, Michigan operated as Campau Tower for many years before closing. I ate there once on a blind date around 2010, and found the burgers to be authentically small and oniony, if not square. I can't help but think this was the last real White Tower. The last time I was there, they still had the old Campau Tower sign up, with the Tower part being from the original White Tower sign, but these days they sell street tacos, and a second sign in the window reads "Dos Locos Tacos."

Tandy: Falling Slowly

ALIVE IN CAMPBELLSVILLE

I've always meant to cover more retail stores here, but broken chain restaurants are easier to find, and I generally have more to say about them. I've struggled to find retail stores that I'm inspired to write about. Radio Shack, an offshoot of the Tandy corporation, fits the Broken Chains theme nicely. Once a fixture of every mall, most Radio Shack locations closed at the time of the company's bankruptcy in 2015, but a handful of franchised locations remained open, the unlikely survivors of an extinction level event. I encountered one such location in Campbellsville, Kentucky, directly across the street from the last operating Druther's restaurant. I stopped by to check it out after a hearty breakfast at Druther's and found it to be operating both as a Radio Shack and an independent carpet store. The sole employee excused himself from a conversation with another customer shopping for carpet to ask if he could help me. Not looking for anything in particular, and slightly flustered, I asked if he had a car charger for my iPhone. (I didn't need one, but it was the first thing that came to mind that a Radio Shack would be likely to have.) It turned out they didn't have any iPhone car chargers in stock. Without any reason to linger in the store further, I thanked the employee for his time. He returned to his carpet customers and I left, taking a couple surreptitious pictures on my way out. 

When Blue Lights Fade

Just as I perceived Taco Tico and Taco Bell as equals during my early 1990s childhood in Central Kentucky, I saw Walmart and Kmart in much the same way. At the time, Kmart was the undisputed champion of discount stores, and Walmart was still the young up and comer from small-town Arkansas. Each chain had a store at opposite ends of Nicholasville, Kentucky which were roughly the same size, each offering a store full of clothing and homegoods with a few token grocery aisles. I'd get dragged to both stores on the regular as a kid. As the '90s progressed, however, Walmart's presence grew with larger and more numerous stores opening seemingly at every major intersection in and around Lexington, while the aging Kmart stores, most of which were 1970s builds, closed one by one. The Nicholasville Kmart closed its doors right around the time Walmart started building its new Supercenter across town, which remains open today. The Kmart has since been demolished and replaced by a Kroger.

Major suppliers have stopped doing business with Sears and Kmart, fearing that the bankrupt company won't be able to pay for their merchandise. The lack of merchandise has led to shelves that once held electronics being stocked with pillows and mattress covers...

...And bare shelves as beverage distributors stop supplying inventory. 

When I moved to Billings, Montana in 2012, I rediscovered Kmart, preferring to shop at the never-crowded, heavily dated Kmart in town rather than the more modern and popular local Walmart and Target locations. The old Billings Kmart was just as I remembered the Kmart in Nicholasville from two decades earlier. I was a regular there until its closure in 2014 or so. The distinct lack of updates in most of their stores is what attracts me to Kmart. With no budget to modernize stores, most Kmart locations feel exactly as they did 20 or 30 years ago. It's that time capsule feeling that keeps me seeking out Kmarts that are still open for business. 

Operating Kmart locations are increasingly rare specimens, and may soon be extinct. Kmart was bought out of bankruptcy in 2003 by ESL investments, a hedge fund controlled by Eddie Lampert, who became the de facto CEO of Kmart. Not long after Lampert also acquired Sears and merged the two brands, and generally proceeded to mismanage them, resulting in massive financial losses. Lampert has been trying to recoup these losses for a decade or so by selling off company assets little by little, effectively very slowly liquidating the company. Each new financial hardship has brought about a new wave of store closures. Sears Holdings, the company that controls both Sears and Kmart, declared bankruptcy in October.  

Prior to Lampert's takeover, the Kmart corporation, a descendant of the old S.S. Kresge department store chain, was based in Detroit. In fact, the very first Kmart, which opened in 1962 and closed in 2017, is located not far from my metro Detroit home. As a result, Kmart had a significant presence in and around Detroit well into the Lampert era. These days, there are more empty Kmart buildings around than operating ones. With the long term survival of the Kmart and Sears brands as we know them looking increasingly unlikely, I've spent the last few months visiting as many Kmarts as I can, mostly in Michigan, but a few elsewhere as I encounter them. While Sears isn't as close to my heart as Kmart is, I've visited a few of their stores too.  I don't have much to say about the decline of Kmart and Sears that the mainstream press isn't already saying, but I have shopped at, and taken a lot of pictures of their surviving stores this year. I'll close by sharing a few of my Sears/Kmart pictures. 

Warren, Michigan, a former Sears Essentials store

Waterford, Michigan, The brick columns make me think this used to be something else. If you know what it was before it became a Kmart, comment below.

Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina, a very nice, modern-feeling store, just up the road from an operating Ben Franklin

Grayling, Michigan, perhaps the last operating unmodified prefab pole barn Kmart

Oscoda, Michigan, I'm told this store started out as a pole barn similar to the one in Grayling before being expanded into its current form.

Clio, Michigan, a '90s build store that's starting to show its age

Marine City, Michigan, wearing the distinctive curved top facade that I refer to as the Kmart tiara. 

Belleville, Michigan, this is the closest Kmart to me. I shop here once every couple of weeks. 

Marshall, Michigan, another '90s Kmart. This one feels the most vibrant of all the stores I've visited. It's pharmacy, and in-store Little Caesars are even still open. 

Grayson, Kentucky, This store is now in the process of closing...

...as is this store in Lake Orion, Michigan

Peru, Indiana, This is the smallest Kmart I've ever seen. The absence of the word "Big" from the sign was very fitting. 

Longtime Broken Chains readers will remember the Midland, Michigan Kmart from my Retro Roadtrip back in February. 

A Meijer in Lincoln Park, Michigan that's clearly a former Super Kmart. It still feels decidedly Kmartish on the inside. 

Sears, an anchor store of the Fashion Square mall in Saginaw, Michigan. This store is in the process of closing. 

A 1950s vintage Sears in Lincoln Park, Michigan, also in the process of closing. I hope they keep the logo on the water tower. 

Thanks everyone for your readership and suggestions. This silly blog project of mine has led me to having a solid year of adventures in 2018. I'm looking forward to another year of Broken Chains, and I'm excited to see where 2019 will take me. Wherever I end up, I'll be sure to tell you all about it here.