Earl and I just returned from an excursion to Hammond, Indiana, where we had Sunday dinner at Phil Schmidt and Son. I realize it’s a long way from St. Joseph to go for a meal, but we happened to be in the neighborhood for another reason and decided to revisit the restaurant that made a name for itself with its recipe for frogs’ legs.
We stop in at Phil Schmidt’s about once every five years, and the place hasn’t changed at all since our first visit in the early nineties. It’s still in the iffy part of Hammond, although a gigantic casino acts like a stage backdrop these days. It still has a showcase of frog paraphernalia just inside the front door; and the dйcor is still from the fifties, even though our hostess said there had been some repainting and reupholstering.
But the menu was the same. The three most important entrees are frog legs, perch, and chicken; and you can order a combination of any two for dinner. Any two also means a double portion of one item instead of the variety approach.
I have always ordered frog legs in some fashion every time I go there, because that’s what Phil is known for. However, unlike McDonald’s, who used to advertise how many burgers it had sold, Phil Schmidt does not divulge how many frogs have given up their legs for his fifteen minutes of fame. Is it a million frogs, which would equate to four million legs? Or ten million frogs? And where do all those frogs come from in the first place?
This time I tried the sautйed frog legs instead the deep fried. They were lightly floured and heavily sautйed, so I’m not sure I gained anything positive in the calorie count. They were more difficult to eat too because the frog meat wasn’t crispy enough to come of the bone when I bit into it. They were also quite small, which made me wonder if these were baby frogs — aren’t they called tadpoles? I am not a heartless person, so I had to quell my feelings of guilt and think of something cheerier as I chewed. The frogs in the Budweiser commercials came to mind; they certainly have a happier existence than the ones on my plate, even if they must attend Alcoholic Frogs Anonymous meetings.
For the most part, Earl and I enjoyed our Memory Lane meal and are set for another five years before our next visit to Phil Schmidt and Son. In the meantime, maybe someone will organize a nonprofit titled Free Frogs for a Better Planet. Even though I enjoyed my meal, I’d probably join up.
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