Heading west on I-94 into Montana, past
place names like Whoopup Creek and Bad Route Road, you eventually arrive at the
town of Forsyth where you turn onto Highway 12 which eventually takes you into
Helena. That’s just what we did this
past week when we fulfilled a longing to visit that capital city. About at the halfway point of the
interminable miles on that stretch, a little speck named Ingomar appears which
contains one business - Jersey Lilly.
One might wonder where the name came from. Well, it seems that the new owner of the bar,
in 1958, borrowed the name from the western character Judge Roy Bean’s
establishment of the same name in Langtry, Texas.
In an advertisement found in one of
the rack-filling brochures about the state, we read of Ingomar where one needed
to stop in and try the famous bean soup.
Let’s go for it, we’ll eat in these quirky little places for a new
experience. The odd collection of
buildings sat off the road about a half mile and we drove over very large stones
they called gravel. The Jersey Lilly was
one of a kind! The building was only in
a little better condition than the majority of tumble-down shacks and ragged
trailer houses that the few residents lived in.
We pulled up to the weathered, boot-worn
boardwalk where a sagging overhang shaded and showed someone’s initiative of having
already hung Christmas lights. The heavy
sun-baked door displaying a “Push Hard” sign opened into the dual-purpose café and
bar. First-off, a decision needed to be
made – sit at the bar or at a table. One
patron sat tipping a longnecker at the bar as the cook busied herself in the
kitchen. A table we chose and walked on
an uneven, creaky floor to get to it.
Character this place had! Dusty stuffed heads adorned the walls and
looking up to the moose head above, we noticed it had a cigarette in its
mouth. Fading John Wayne pictures and a
poster featuring heavyweight champions from years past hung undisturbed,
probably for years. A bit skeptical of
the food, I chose an old reliable hamburger from the menu, but Mary went for
the bean soup.
While we waited we couldn’t help
but notice the beautiful cherry wood back bar with its carvings, mirrors, and liquor
bottles. I picked up a little pamphlet
from the table that gave some of the area history including this bar. It had been shipped up the Missouri and
Yellowstone Rivers from St. Louis on a steamboat in the early 1900’s.
Rest rooms? The cook smiled and said they were outside, around
the corner. No plumbing in them. A sink hung in one corner of the bar where we
washed our hands.
Here came the food. Mine on a platter, and Mary’s in a steamy, long-handled
kettle. Too hot to sample right away, I
waited my turn. She said she liked it, “lots
of flavor.” Eventually I got around to
dipping my spoon in the cooling cauldron and had my taste of the famous bean
soup. It was okay, but then I went back
to my very good hamburger.
We finished and decided the food
was good. We needed to hit the road
again. Ingomar, named after a Swede, Montana. So long.
