White River Fish House Awesomeness


My family’s a little . . . different. While everyone else is trying to find the newest hot spot, restaurant, and bar, we’re hot on the trail of the dive-iest, most out-of-the-way little hole-in-the-wall we can find. The White River Fish House in Branson, Missouri, isn’t a dive, and it’s not out of the way, but it’s certainly unique!


It’s a Bass Pro Shop restaurant . . . and it floats. Every time a boat went by on the lake, the whole room rocked.  And by “whole room” I mean the boats hanging on the ceiling, the moose heads, and the fireplace. It’s sort of like upscale dining . . . with a death wish.


And if the impending doom of eating on a rocking building isn’t enough, you can try an appetizer of some good ole gator tail! It tastes . . . follow me closely here . . . just like chicken.

Since the purpose of any vacation is to eat yourself into a painful, bloated oblivion, and since it was our last night on vacation, and since no family outing is a real outing without someone having to get their stomach pumped from overeating, we all indulged in the delicious menu. First up, Ozark Chicken and Penne.

Almond-Encrusted Trout with Rice Pilaf was also on the menu. But let’s be honest: I’m from Iowa. I wouldn’t know a good-tasting trout if it did a little tap dance on my plate just to prove its awesomeness.

Carbohydrate-ville: Population 1. A variation on the Ozark penne theme, but this time with shrimp.

More trout. Let’s just say, if you have to serve a meal in an iron skillet . . . it’s too much food. Serving size my gut rot!

And just to prove that we’re healthy kind of folks, we even tried a salad. We’re healthy people, the  kind that eat the fried food first and then follow it up with blue cheese crumbles, just to prove that we’re food snobs. Would now be a bad time to note that we washed the salad down with a blueberry cobbler?

Then we sat back, loosened our belts, burped, wiped our mouths on our sleeves Ozark-style, and groaned in food-induced coma misery. But hey, at least the decor was nice . . . when it wasn’t rocking.


Then we pushed back our chairs, sucked in our guts, and crawled to the car . . . so that we could drive to the dessert parlor for more ice cream.

Whaddya think? We’re lightweights or something?


 

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