Chasing Perfection

“Perfection can’t be achieved.” These words from a football coach, Vince Lombardi, linger in our minds. Back in 1959, when he spoke to his Green Bay Packers, he added, “But if you chase perfection, you get excellence.” It makes you ponder—do brilliant minds truly know when they’ve reached the closest possible state of perfection?

Consider C.S. Lewis. After finishing his Christian apologetic work, “-Screw Tape Letters-,” did he sense he was at the pinnacle of his craft? Or think of Townes Van Zandt, when he performed his ballads for the first time, did he know his art was nearly divine?

It seems like magic happens often at Sister Bay Bowl. I can’t directly ask Lewis or Mr. Van Zandt; they’ve since moved on. But if you find yourself in Lombardi’s adopted state later this summer, you can have a chat with the owner of Sister Bay Bowl, a dinner spot in scenic Door County, Wisconsin.

Much like other parts of northeastern Wisconsin, this slow-paced establishment has been in the Willems family since 1950. Initially operating as a hotel, they transformed the dancehall into a six-lane bowling alley in 1958 and added a dinner club in 1964.

Now, the hotel has shut down, but many locals call the dining and bowling there simply “the bowl.” In a world that’s so interconnected, the bowl offers a much-needed escape—a few hours of tranquility away from time and everyday life.

This past summer, my five kids took up bowling during our wait for a table. It turned out to be a win-win: the kids were entertained, and my wife, Devin, and I got a little relief. Pricing for bowling was reasonable, and I never had to hunt for a seat.

Interestingly, it seems that no one in there uses a smartphone. Only modernity peaks through the haze, a brief reminder of the Milwaukee Brewers game playing on the bar’s TV. It’s almost like stepping back into a slice of Americana from the late 20th century.

I’ve heard jokes that the moon’s a terrible place for a restaurant—good food but no ambiance. I didn’t fully appreciate the importance of atmosphere until visiting the bowl. There’s nothing wrong with the group of diners who might’ve just splashed around in Lake Michigan before arriving.

But here’s the thing: everyone is genuinely happy. It’s a rare spot where time seems to stand still, and folks feel as if they’re exactly where they ought to be. A night in the bowl almost feels like a brush with eternity. Francis Thompson aptly termed this feeling “Majestic Instancy.”

Here, I rekindled my affection for life’s simple joys in Wisconsin—like how fantastic peaches pair with cottage cheese. You can even ask your server about the most heartfelt dishes without worrying about seeming uncool. True to its Midwest roots, everything here is full of heart.

Years ago, I took Devin’s grandmother, Mary Devine, to dinner. I still remember asking her if she’d like to join me at the bowl. Her reply echoes in my ears: “Why, Mike, I love it.”

Recently, as the sun set over Sister Bay, I enjoyed deep conversations with an elegant Southern woman. She hadn’t attended college, yet she exhibited more common sense than anyone I’ve ever met. It was unforgettable.

Nana passed away shortly after that dinner, making our time together an unexpected farewell gift. I have a feeling that magic isn’t done yet at Sister Bay Bowl.