text: What could I possibly say about the Beach House Restaurant and Lounge?  I guess I could think of a few things.\n\nI went there today for the first time and was dazzled by the charm it flaunted, while still maintaining the gritty edge of a backwoods Wisconsin eatery.  Let's not get it twisted folks, we're not breaking gastronomic ground here.  What we are breaking are your misconceptions of what a restaurant can be whose parking lot is largely composed of Chevy and Dodge trucks, and whose front, snow-covered, lawn is full of snowmobiles.  Deal with it kids, this is that slice of Midwest Americana you've been looking for in any number of wayside eateries in rural America.  Fish fry anyone?\n\nTo begin, let me explain that one of the many draws for the Beach House's patrons is the fact that it is still legal to smoke indoors in McFarland.  I stepped inside and was immediately made aware of this fact as plumes of smoke took up residence in my clothes and nose.  \n\nDo not fear, however, there is a separate dining room that is nonsmoking.  And man was this separate dining room packed (Superbowl Sunday).  Packed with large women squeezing into convention center chairs.  Packed with waitresses who wore skin tight white Jordache jeans, giving you a fleeting sense of their giving nature.  Packed with the eager anticipation of an entire day spent watching football and football-related activities: drooling, eating, drinking, and smoking.  God bless America.\n\nThe AM dish to get here is the Walleye and eggs breakfast.  I would tend to agree, although their limited selection of omelets is made marginally more tasty by the addition of broccoli (you heard me punk).  As breakfast wore on, the dining room filled, emptied, and filled again; the waitstaff eagerly setting new places, removing paper place settings, calling people darlin' and hon'(always appreciated).\n\nSo give it to me hard backwoods Wisconsin.  Give me every sinew of your being: your ice fishing, snowmobiling, smoking, bloody Mary drinking, being.  Just be.  And give me a friggin' huge piece of deep fried walleye to help me digest the spectacle, with scrambled eggs on the side.  And don't you dare forget the tartar sauce.