Review: Mike Linnig's

Mike Linnig's is a unique and wonderful restaurant that's been family-owned and operated since 1925 — making it one of the oldest family-run businesses of any kind in the Metro area.

In the 1920s, when Calvin Coolidge was president and Model Ts still roamed America's countryside, Mike Linnig's was a roadside stand where the family sold fruits and vegetables. Over time, the offerings grew to include sandwiches and cider.

Eventually, the family created a sort of rural roadhouse — a weekend site for square dances, baseball and wrestling. Through Prohibition, the Great Depression, fires and floods, the business has operated continuously (except for a brief hiatus forced by gas and food rationing during World War II).

And somehow, across that broad span of years, Mike Linnig's has remained largely unchanged — pulling into the parking lot on a warm evening feels like falling into the past and landing in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting filled with picnic tables, playful children and happy, relaxed families.

Outdoor seating at Linnig's can accommodate close to 1,000 at picnic tables and a scattering of sheltered gazebos (and there are times when even that many seats don't seem to be sufficient). In addition, there's a good-sized indoor dining area and a couple of party rooms that seat groups of up to 100.

For children, there are plenty of swings and slides. And cyclers and hikers using the Ohio River Levee Trail (which connects to the RiverWalk) will find Linnig's a spectacular place to regroup and refuel.

Most diners order their food at inside and outside counters, and pick it up when their names are called, but full service is available (you have to flag down one of the roving servers to place your order).

Everything that's ordered on a single ticket will be completed at the same time, so a tip to the wise: if you'd like to pace your meal, or just ensure that soups, appetizers and everything else you've ordered don't come out of the kitchen at the same time, place separate orders for the various components of your meal, and let a bit of time elapse between the orders.

Linnig's specialty is fried fish — fried everything really: chicken, chicken livers and gizzards, clams, shrimp, scallops, frog legs, alligator, tilapia, you name it.

Portions are sized for big appetites. Most dishes are available as a la carte “orders” or dinner plates (with fries, bread, finely diced coleslaw and little cups of Linnig's tartar sauce, a great Southern-style condiment based on a sweet-tangy flavor reminiscent of Miracle Whip salad dressing — be sure to order extra cups, at 20 cents each).

A recent fish dinner ($11.85) brought two thick slabs of moist, golden-fried white fish that measured out at 8 inches long and 3 inches wide — easily enough to satisfy two mouths.

Dinners top out at $21.95 (for a mixed seafood plate); several dinners are priced $15.85 (shrimp, scallops, frog legs), and there are several options under $12 (crab cakes, clams, a half-chicken, catfish). A la carte portions run $8-$12, and a list of sandwiches (grilled chicken, burgers) rings up under $6.

It's hard to go wrong with the fried dishes — or with the Southern sides, like green beans, macaroni and cheese, and — most especially — sprigs of carefully trimmed green onions ($1.95) that seem to me an essential part of the Linnig's experience.

Likewise, there are few better things in life than a long evening with a bottle of beer, a pile of chilled, pink, peel-and-eat shrimp and some cocktail sauce (quarter pound, $4.50; half pound, $7.50; pound, $13.70).

Those who avoid fried food will find a few competent options. A big slab of grilled salmon ($13.75) had been thoroughly cooked (no trendy cookery here), but wasn't helped by being sluiced with a pungent honey-mustard marinade that might better have been served on the side. It was served with warm bread, a hefty salad of iceberg lettuce and a “baked” potato that might more accurately have been labeled “steamed in foil.”

Baked chicken (a half chicken, $7.95/order, $11.85/dinner) was more successful, sprinkled with herbs and easy to pull from the bone — but plastic utensils seemed poor tools for carving the chicken into manageable pieces.

I've never felt the need to follow the fried fish with desserts like Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Pie or Oreo Cheesecake ($2.50). I'd rather just order another Newcastle (from a list that's heavily oriented toward popular lagers) and nibble on another shoot of green onion.