We Visited Our Daughter Sarah and Son-in-Law Matt; Rode the Mississippi River Trail

Captions: 1. On right, Sarah Conzemius Quinn; on left, Matthew A. Quinn on their wedding day, 2016. 2. Maria Houser Conzemius on the Mississippi River, 9/7/17.

Jim and I traveled to Davenport to visit our daughter Sarah and son-in-law Matt, who married about this time last year. We intended to sup together, breakfast together, and then go on an adventure of our own bicycling along the Mississippi River while they worked on Saturday.

On Friday night we dined on tender, beautifully cooked steaks, courtesy of Matt, delicious hand-made mashed potatoes, salads, and had yummy low-calorie ice cream for dessert. We brought wine, but theirs was better.

Matt talked earnestly the next morning with his parents about how he should have listened to his father’s advice on how to cook the steaks instead of the meat market’s advice, but I don’t know how he could have done a better job cooking the steaks. He’s a perfectionist, obviously.

Since Sarah had already gone to work, he took us to Mary Sue’s Café for breakfast. A more charming, more intimate breakfast nook does not exist. It has the old-timey flavor of a 1940s breakfast nook that an Iowa City café could never have, because none is that old. Iowa City is a river town, but not a Mississippi River town.

Mary Sue has antiques in front and a busy diner in back. She flew around like she was in her fifties but she had to be in her seventies. I long to return. Such an omelet with such a crust on the hash browns. You don’t get that kind of food every day.

Out on the Mississippi we rode on a paved trail on the top of an earthen flood berm. We started at Bad Boyz Bar in Moline, a familiar haunt to the MelonHeads and other bicycle teams. This time I noticed the gangsta theme, as in the Mob. There was a full color portrait of John Giotti on the wall and a photo of mobsters near Giotti’s portrait.

One of the Bad Boyz cooks pointed to a green-and-yellow apartment building and told me that Al Capone liked a breakfast café that used to be where the apartment building is now. He said there’s lots of tunnels in surrounding buildings for bootlegging. His grandparents from Quincy, Illinois told him that Al Capone and other mobsters would retire to Quincy to cool off when things got hot with the Chicago cops.

Iowa, of course, has its own Mob connection with Templeton rye. Word has it that Iowa farmers still keep secret their own home-made recipes for the real deal. Snitches are not well thought of. Al Capone had a particular fondness for Templeton rye.

Out on the trail next to the Mississippi, the fresh air, even the wind, the sparkling, shimmering water in the sun gave us a free, wholesome feeling. It was a glorious, sunny day, the kind of day early September orders up for everyone’s particular pleasure as summer hints that fall is around the bend.

Traveling to Davenport to visit our daughter Sarah and son-in-law Matt, we intended to sup together, breakfast together, and then go on an adventure of our own bicycling along the Mississippi River while they worked on Saturday. They work hard for a living and have the accoutrements of success to show for it. We dined on tender, beautifully cooked steaks, courtesy of Matt, delicious hand-made mashed potatoes, salads, and had delicious low-calorie ice cream for dessert. We brought wine, but theirs was better.

Matt talked earnestly the next morning with his parents about how he should have listened to his father’s advice on how to cook the steaks instead of the meat market’s advice, but I don’t know how he could have done a better job. He’s a perfectionist, obviously, and on the job, too. (He’s an attorney.)

He took us to Mary Sue’s Café for breakfast, and a sweeter, more intimate breakfast nook does not exist. It has the old-timey flavor of a 1940s breakfast nook on the river that an Iowa City café could never have. Mary Sue had antiques in front and a busy diner in back. She flew around like she was in her fifties but she had to be in her seventies. I long to return. Such an omelet with such a crust on the hash browns. You don’t get that kind of food every day.

Out on the Mississippi we rode on pavement on the top of the flood berm. We started at Bad Boyz Bar, a familiar haunt to the MelonHeads and other bicycle teams, but this time I noticed the gangsta theme, as in the Mob. There was a full color portrait of John Giotti on the wall and a photo of Mobsters near Giotti’s portrait.

One of the Bad Boyz cooks pointed to a green-and-yellow apartment building and told me that Al Capone liked a breakfast café that used to be where the apartment building is now. He said there’s lots of tunnels in surrounding buildings for bootlegging. His grandparents from Quincy, Illinois told him that Al Capone and other mobsters would retire to Quincy to cool off when things got hot with the coppers in Chicago.

Iowa, of course, has its own Mob connection with Templeton rye. Word has it that Iowa farmers still keep secret their own home-made recipes for the real deal. Snitches are not well thought of.

Out on the trail next to the Mississippi, the fresh air, even the wind, the sparkling, shimmering water in the sun gave us a free, wholesome feeling. It was a glorious, sunny day, the kind of day early September orders up for everyone’s particular pleasure as summer hints that fall is around the bend.