I went three years without stepping foot in Milwaukee and the one weekend I get back, my pal Mr. PDO had coincidentally made his way north from his home of Chicago. Not bad luck if you ask me.
I called PDO and he told us a group of them were having drinks at some place called “Truck-a-dare-oh” or “Trow-cah-dare-oh”. I think it’s the latter. To be sure of where I was going I found their exact address online, and noticed their website claims they’re located on “Rue de L’eau.” My High School French class knowledge tells me that THAT means… brace yourselves: “Water Street”
Wowwwwww. Fannnncy.
It’s in one of those great, old, thin, on-the-corner Milwaukee buildings, and they’re certainly going for a European feel. Lots of stuff in French on the walls, but the whole place has the coloring of Spain. To me at least, don’t ask me why.
Despite sitting with PDO, his fiancee, and three other friends dead center in their main room, our server seemed to forget about us from time to time. He’d be great for 5-10 minutes, (getting us water and asking if we needed more drinks) then he’d disappear for half an hour.
The first round came out in stages. First came two glasses of wine and a Bloody Mary. My wife got the Bloody Mary, and she said it was very good, but it was set down in front of me. Then the waiter… gone. A few minutes went by and my beer and PDO’s Jameson showed up. The Jameson came in a short little snifter. My beer tasted unusually thin, and PDO thinned out his Jameson with water. Strangeness was all around. (C’mon PDO! Don’t water it down!)
Our waiter then disappeared again. Those of us with drinks were waiting to begin and our politeness started to feel awkward because it was taking so long. What seemed like five more minutes passed before the final two drinks showed up… but then all was well.
Our waiter apologized. He was nice and all, but it seemed like they were making the drinks a block down and he had to put snow pants on each time he went outside.
We stayed for a few and then PDO’s gal started falling asleep at the table. She got dropped off at home and we moved on. The atmosphere was perfect for meeting friends that I hadn’t seen in awhile, but the service was about as manic as Kurt Warner’s career. Good, bad, GREAT… gone… SUPERBOWL. And that was just with one guy taking care of us. Overall it’s a decent bet, especially if Mr. PDO picks up the tab.
Stepping into Trocadero after our unpleasant experience at Brocach Irish Pub, just down Rue de L'eau, was such a relief.
While waiting for the others to join us, we spent a delicious and relaxing hour enjoying tasty dessert, wine, and coffee. The wonderfully intimate setting was enhanced by the waiter's lack of intrusion, which wasn't yet a bad thing.
Then the waiter brings over our check, which had not been requested. Our glasses weren't empty and the place was empty. I suspected they were closing, thinking 9pm in Milwaukee may be all the hipsters could take.
He replied, "No, we're open until midnight."
"In that case, I'd like a cappuccino and you'd better take this (handing the check) back."
It's funny that JWEBB was also confused about the correct European source of Trocadero. I thought it was an Italian place. I thought this all the way back to our table, as we passed traditional cafe chairs, a menu listing mussels in white wine, and a mediocre recreation of van Gogh's Cafe Terrace above the bar. I continued to think this as I marveled over the great French wine list. Trocadero's French origins finally dawned on me while reading the dinner menu. Croque Monsieur (here adorably named Mr. Crock), Crepes, Salade Nicoise, Onion Soup.
PDO and I shared a deliciously wonderful Nono Crepe, filled with Nutella and chocolate mousse and sprinkled with hazelnuts. And the skim cappuccino (making up for the Nono) was truly fantastic. I've worked at a coffee shop and I know correctly steaming skim milk is not a fun (or sometimes, achievable) task. They even did the design on top/chocolate on the side thing.
In summary, I can't wait to go back with PDO for the Nono Crepe, the French Onion Soup (which looked tasty in passing), and more reasonably-priced French wine. The terrace looked like a fun place to sip bubbly and eat mussels in the summer. I will not be back with a group, though.
Trocadero | Milwaukee, WI
I went three years without stepping foot in Milwaukee and the one weekend I get back, my pal Mr. PDO had coincidentally made his way north from his home of Chicago. Not bad luck if you ask me.
I called PDO and he told us a group of them were having drinks at some place called “Truck-a-dare-oh” or “Trow-cah-dare-oh”. I think it’s the latter. To be sure of where I was going I found their exact address online, and noticed their website claims they’re located on “Rue de L’eau.” My High School French class knowledge tells me that THAT means… brace yourselves: “Water Street”
Wowwwwww. Fannnncy.
It’s in one of those great, old, thin, on-the-corner Milwaukee buildings, and they’re certainly going for a European feel. Lots of stuff in French on the walls, but the whole place has the coloring of Spain. To me at least, don’t ask me why.
Despite sitting with PDO, his fiancee, and three other friends dead center in their main room, our server seemed to forget about us from time to time. He’d be great for 5-10 minutes, (getting us water and asking if we needed more drinks) then he’d disappear for half an hour.
The first round came out in stages. First came two glasses of wine and a Bloody Mary. My wife got the Bloody Mary, and she said it was very good, but it was set down in front of me. Then the waiter… gone. A few minutes went by and my beer and PDO’s Jameson showed up. The Jameson came in a short little snifter. My beer tasted unusually thin, and PDO thinned out his Jameson with water. Strangeness was all around. (C’mon PDO! Don’t water it down!)
Our waiter then disappeared again. Those of us with drinks were waiting to begin and our politeness started to feel awkward because it was taking so long. What seemed like five more minutes passed before the final two drinks showed up… but then all was well.
Our waiter apologized. He was nice and all, but it seemed like they were making the drinks a block down and he had to put snow pants on each time he went outside.
We stayed for a few and then PDO’s gal started falling asleep at the table. She got dropped off at home and we moved on. The atmosphere was perfect for meeting friends that I hadn’t seen in awhile, but the service was about as manic as Kurt Warner’s career. Good, bad, GREAT… gone… SUPERBOWL. And that was just with one guy taking care of us. Overall it’s a decent bet, especially if Mr. PDO picks up the tab.