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Donnie Mac's Trailer Park Cuisine - Boise Weekly Food Review
Boise Weekly
August 2, 2006 By Amy Atkins, Waj Nasser Read the article on the Boise Weekly Website After a family dinner at a restaurant that looked as though it was decorated by crew of color-blind grade-schoolers, my regular dining companion (the I.T. Guy) turned to me and sotto voce said angrily, "I hate theme restaurants." So, it was with some hesitation that I invited him to be my date for lunch at Donnie Mac's Trailer Park Cuisine. I hadn't been there before, but based on the exterior of the building, I surmised that the interior would be anything but austere. I was not wrong. We got to Donnie Mac's on a Thursday afternoon and the harried but friendly hostess informed us it would be a 15- to 20-minute wait unless we wanted to sit in the back room or at the bar. In the back room, the seating options are old couches, love seats and wing-back chairs, and meals are eaten off of coffee and end tables. At the bar, the "stools" are small saddles on springy, half-moon metal bases. For a brief moment, I had The Shining: I was splayed on the floor after having leaned too far back in one of the saddles, and everyone in the packed place was pointing and laughing at me. Saddle seating? No, thanks. Just then Harried the Hostess noticed a couple leaving, and we were soon seated in cool chrome chairs at a table covered in a colorful flowered vinyl tablecloth. The booths are old car bench seats covered in brightly colored Naugahyde, festive plastic shower curtains separate the servers' station and right in the middle of the restaurant on a platform is the body of an old car with a table and chairs in the cab. There is a theme, but instead of looking like they opened the roof and unloaded a dumptruck full of thrift-store items, every design accessory looks intentional and whole place is cheery and very clean. I did hope, though, that when I opened the menu, I wouldn't be faced with a choice of Spam sandwiches or Vienna sausage casserole. I needn't have worried. The menu at Donnie Mac's is sparse but fine. The I.T. Guy ordered a B.L.T. (with peppered bacon on ciabatta bread) and regular fries, and I got the macaroni and cheese with a cut-up hot dog on the side just like Mom used to make (it's actually on the menu!) with sweet potato fries and sweet fry sauce. The mac and cheese was to die for. It was savory and real-cheese cheesy, and a forkful of that with a slice of 'dog was a mouth-watering, delicious little bite of Americana. The sweet dip for the fries wasn't exactly my cup of sauce, but was unique and tasty (you'll have to order it yourself to find out what it's made of), and the sweet potato fries were thin and crispy and worth going back for. My date let me taste his sandwich (OK, I made him) and it made me wish I had room to order one for myself. Since we spent less than 20 bucks and less than an hour, we'll go back. But I still won't sit at the bar. —Amy Atkins will never heed the phrase, "Saddle up!" While working in Appalachia, the locals called me Wally, killed a pig on my behalf and took me to cock fights. Inevitably, I learned a thing or two about real rednecks. But post-modern rednecks are different. They live in mcmansions, and like to propel themselves through God's decreasingly green Earth on snowmobiles, skidoos and dirt bikes. They (we?) have come to live a life of affluent parody of the poor—like Britney Spears or Bill Clinton. Donnie Mac's plays on this romantic, contemporary notion of "trailer trash," and succeeds with satisfying food and good humor. But I'm not sure everyone gets the joke. I observed as one guy surveyed the lounge area, and casually told his gal-with-a-tattoo-on-her-breast, "This would be like eating in our living room," and sat elsewhere. Said lounge is carpeted in fake grass, utilizes a crushed car for a coffee table, and is defined by a gold-colored, semi-circular couch that would make Liberace purr like a newlywed registered at Pottery Barn. Go figure. Or don't go figure, and just sit yourself down and raise your cholesterol in a place that looks like a junkyard that got hit by a twister—twice. There is entertaining stuff all over the place, like truck tailgates that double as a bar, shower curtains that provide romantic, semi-private dining and seating for four in an old sedan. The menu delivers horrific American favorites like meatloaf, SpaghettiO's, mac and cheese, corn dogs, PB and J, and finger steaks. You may be asking, "Why should I go out and eat what I already feed to my kids and the feral neighborhood cats?" Because Donnie Mac's puts their own tasty twist on these classics, and also offers a big variety of salads, and many delicious mesquite-grilled items. My cheeseburger on focaccia carried a heavy, seductive, smoky scent that nearly made me cough—I like that. The onion rings are made from a local recipe, and I would like to ask their author to adopt me. But if gourmet fast food and carnival-like surroundings aren't enough, Donnie Mac's will draw you in with what I am proclaiming without equivocation is ... The Best Damn Milkshake in Town! Yes, you read me right, they have the best milkshake in town. Imagine a sweet, dear and plump grandma. Now, stuff her in a blender, puree and add Reese's peanut butter cups. That's about what my milkshake tasted like, and I have absolutely no doubt you will arrive at the same conclusion after tasting one. So even for those who never used a Confederate flag for a window shade, or willingly watched competitive bass fishing, Donnie Mac's has a seat for you. —Wally Nasser beats his dog when Dale Jr. doesn't win.
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