Arrow-right Camera
The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Tiny Restaurant Has Fightin Chance

Ronna Snyder Correspondent

It’s Fightin Creek. “Without the `G,”’ says Janell Chmelar emphatically.

Not Fightin Creek Saloon. Not Fightin Creek Tavern. Not even Fightin Creek Restaurant.

It’s simply Fightin Creek, says the 36-year-old owner who, two years ago, purchased the postage-stamp-sized stop 20 minutes south of Coeur d’Alene on U.S. Highway 95.

It’s the one you’ve whizzed by with barely a glance: the place that sports a well-worn Western front porch, attached smoke shop, and a huge parking lot. Good thing for Chmelar (who pronounces her last name Shmoo-lar). Because ever since she purchased the place, the number of cars in that parking lot has been steadily increasing. Word’s been spreading from Sunup to Rockford Bay about Chmelar’s Fightin Creek brand of cooking.

“I always saw the potential for a restaurant here,” Chmelar said of the decision by her and her Czechoslovakian-born husband, Ivo, to buy what some would have dismissed as a worn-out little dump on the side of the road.

“Call it temporary insanity,” she said with a chuckle. But she’d been watching the phenomenal growth of Lake Coeur d’Alene’s west side during her four-year stint as a stay-at-home-mom in Cougar Gulch. While her husband was out on the road as a long-haul trucker, Chmelar was envisioning the blue-collar construction workers who were pouring into the area appreciating her homemade cream of broccoli soup and 2-inch-thick bacon burgers for lunch.

She’d learned much in her years in the restaurant and hospitality trades working at places like Sheraton hotels and other upscale eateries from California to Texas.

“I’d always search out the nicest dinner houses in town to work in,” Chmelar said of her and her husband’s numerous moves across the country. “I stole a lot of recipes,” she added mischievously. Her favorite is a teriyaki sauce once shared with her by “ol’ man Lloyd,” the owner of Lloyd’s Restaurant tucked deep in the San Bernardino Mountains of California.

At night, with her 15-year-old son Nick off to football practice at Lake City High School, Chmelar pictured the lake’s newly transplanted retirees and vacationers moseying into her restaurant for a dinner you didn’t have to wear pantyhose to enjoy. A bank loan made the vision a reality; two years ago, the Chmelars moved into the home next to the restaurant, which came in the deal.

The admitted control freak does almost all of the cooking as well as waiting tables, chatting up the customers, and cleaning up after they leave. “I work darn cheap,” she said with a smile. The trade-off allows her to put on a spread to rival her big-city competitors at half the price.

On a recent visit, a guest ordered a combination plate of scallops and salmon.

The succulently sweet scallops came lightly breaded and larger than golf balls. A bowl of drawn butter to dip them in gave them an almost lobster-like flavor. The poached salmon was as firm as if it’d been caught that morning right out of Lake Coeur d’Alene. Frosted with a delicate dill sauce, it immediately converted the once-passive fish-eater into a salmon addict.

A side dish of nutty St. Maries-grown wild rice rounded out the meal. The entire thing cost less than $10.

“I admit I love rich food,” said Chmelar, who shops the fish markets and meat markets like some people shop Nordstrom. She also has a penchant for peppers. Her “Cowboy Stew” laced with jalapeno and habanero peppers comes with a fire-retardant bread “to kill the burn,” Chmelar said with a laugh.

Since taking over ownership, Chmelar has added a breakfast menu that runs from biscuits and gravy to homemade french toast made with real french bread ($1.25 a piece).

She’s expanded the dining area into the neighboring former general store. It nearly doubles the square footage and gives smoke-free diners a place to enjoy Chmelar’s culinary creativities. Next comes a deck for outside dining in the summertime.

But don’t expect crystal and caviar, now or ever. Don’t expect sparkling wood floors - they’d be hammered by the work boots that filter in and out throughout the day. This is, after all, still just Fightin Creek.