Willy Street

This was written by a friend of mine who is in Bolivia in the Peace Corps. She wrote it for an international friend of hers to describe where she lived before Bolivia.

Willy Street
by Mandy E.

Did I ever tell you about a place called Willy Street? Yes, there’s a street dedicated to everything Willy. Aside from its phallocentric name, it’s actually not a very long street—only about 15 blocks. Width-wise, it’s an urban/residential bidirectional, with large oak trees flanking either side. Mr. Willy traces the only urban isthmus in the United States, which forms the land bridge between two lakes: Monona and Mendota. Situated closer to Lake Monona, Willy Street acts as the main through-fare for its namesake neighborhood, replete with early 20th century dwellings boasting attics, basements and wrap-around front porches.
Willy Street is famous in Madison, the capital city where it originates. Connotatively speaking, it advocates a lifestyle where urban-sheik and hippie-progressiveness harmonize. Accordingly, there are a number of enticing establishments along Willy Street that personify its character. First on the tour is the Willy Street Co-op: a cooperative grocery store that sells high-end food products and organic meats, cheeses and produce at prices that will make you appreciate the presentation, but hate the fact that you are a poor graduate student. All foodstuffs are bought locally, when available, and you can buy a copy of Bitch magazine while checking out. I never shopped there because even though I support the cultivation of locally produced organic fruits and veggies, I can’t justify paying more when I can get them at Woodman’s near the beltway for cheaper.
One place I did shop frequently on Willy Street was Saint Vincent De Paul’s thrift shop. If you have any kind of love for creating you own style with white elephants then this is your store. I would get anything from night clubbing gear, to dinner date clothes to Halloween costumes to that amazing jean jacket Madonna wore in 1985. One could spend hours there and often on cold mornings when I had a break before my next class, I would warm up to the over-stuffed racks of gently used merchandise.
No good Willy Street would be complete without its share of eateries and drinking establishments. My favorite for burgers and the according chefs who were not afraid to cook them rare was Willy Street Pub. A blue cheese, bacon and mushroom burger with a pint from the local Capital Brewery never lost its appeal. I would go with my Ukrainian girlfriend, eat a burger and let her beat me at chess while listening to the latest down-tempo or live indie-band.
While the traditional American fare always hits the spot, my palate was often tempted by the foreign eateries on Willy Street. Hands down the best Laotian cuisine in the mid-west and also the best jerk chicken north of Jamaica are all nestled on little Willy Street. Walking into Jamerica you immediately felt like you might be served a blunt along with the mismatched dishes, silverware and glasses. Everything has a bit of a thrown together feel, like you were actually in shack with a corrugated tin roof. A few blocks down, the Laotian place was also competing for authenticity; you could actually see the south-east Asian women slaving over large pots in the makeshift kitchen. It was as if you had been invited to a friend’s house for dinner.
As I said earlier, Willy Street is in Madison, Wisconsin, which is about 2 hours north of Chicago and 1.5 hours west of Milwaukee. This geography lesson serves to foreshadow the fact that median winter temperatures are colder than a well digger’s ass in Idaho. Daytime highs in January barely make positive and can leave you breathless, especially when the wind is blowing off one of the empress lakes. The snow can get deep, sometimes knee-high, sometimes waist high. Days like these are when you head over to Willy Street to spend some time at Jolly Bobs.
The first time my friends and I showed up to get some jolly from Bob, I had my doubts: the exterior of the building looked like an old VFW lodge with some red twinkle lights tacked around the doorframe. “This place has good food?” I asked in disbelief. My friends assured me and we went through the door. As my snow-booted foot crossed the threshold, I could almost see the ice melting—we had officially left the artic and entered the tropics. The place was packed full of people making love to strawberry daiquiris, piña coladas and spiced run runners while mingling at the tiki bar. The bartenders wore Hawaiian shirts and there was a parrot making pirate jokes for the ladies. The walls were painted the most fascinating color of tropical ocean blue and adorned with pictures of palm trees, coconuts and warm sandy beaches taken by a Peace Corps volunteer in the DR. I ate coconut shrimp dipped in mango chutney, drank one too many mojitos and swooned to Bob Marley.
I tell you of Willy Street because played a major role in my happiness while attending graduate school in Madison. Wouldn’t it be nice if every town had a fun little Willy Street to enjoy?